


Desert Shadows

by Puffie



Category: Mobile Legends: Bang Bang (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:55:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26123854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puffie/pseuds/Puffie
Summary: After the war, Moskov awakens and escapes his grave. He pays one last visit to Khaleed before he descends into the Abyss.
Relationships: Moskov & Khaleed (Mobile Legends: Bang Bang)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Desert Shadows

Sand as cold as ice shifted under the man’s body as he reached towards the crescent moon. He opened his mouth and breathed like a starved man, tasting freedom. His fingers grasped and clawed the soft ground as he dragged his lower body out of his grave. A final pull and he rolled down the dune, coughing. The starry sky greeted him as he laid flat on his back, 

“So what do you intend to do now, Moskov?” The woman - or rather, the being that asked the question was nearby. The man turned his head to see her hovering, with wings dark like a bat and horns adorning her head like a crown. “You’re one of us now,” her red lips curved in a soft smile. 

Moskov ignored her and touched his chest, using his fingers to trace the large wound - it was what killed him, drained him of blood. The pain was no more, but there was nothing else left in him. Not the itch, the lingering discomfort or relief that came with healing. His entire body was dry as a corpse baked in the desert sun. Preserving the human form of the dead was nothing 

“I have to see someone first,” Moskov told her as he walked over to pick his spear pierced to the ground. He stood up and faced the West. In the darkness of the night, the settlement stood out like a beacon. 

“We await you in the Abyss.” She whispered to his ears and disappeared into the night. 

* * *

If one asked what it meant to be alive, if it was a pulse or the warmth of a body, Moskov was devoid of such things. But there was fire flowing inside him, building up and raging like an invisible flame - the despair of being abandoned, the hate that drove him to seek the Abyss, and the desire for vengeance. It’s the purpose of his resurrection and he’s out to meet the source of it. 

“Khaleed,” Moskov gritted with his teeth as he walked towards the settlement. The journey took an entire day walking and he arrived at a particularly festive moment. Odd. Moskov remembered a war that has been raging on. Villagers were burned, temples destroyed, fields were littered with massacred peasants and warriors laid on the sand on unmarked graves - like he was. 

As Moskov, traversed through the village, a cloak concealed his face and the abomination that was his body. A walking dead traversed past the food, music, and dancing. All the conversations and laughter combined into a piercing noise that stirred his anger. Nothing was as insulting considering that his comrades were left rotting under dunes. Brave men had fought and died beside him, and yet people were having a feast. Where was the mourning?

A village elder walked into the center of the crowd and captured everyone’s attention. “Brothers and sisters! I bring great news: our hero Khaleed is now in stable condition. Recovery is expected in the coming days!”

The crowd erupted in applause and chanted: “Khaleed! Khaleed! Hail to the hero Khaleed!”

“Down with the tyrant Khufra!”

“We are free!” The crowd roared. 

Moskov clenched his fists until his fingernails wounded his palm, his jaw locked as he gritted his teeth. He wanted to scream. It would be easy to slaughter hundreds of these people if he wanted to. They’re nothing but ignorant and helpless, needing to be rescued by warriors. No wonder they worship Khaleed. A stage play unfolded before Moskov’s eyes; depicting Khaleed as the brave warrior who rescued the clans and defeated Khufra. 

No mention about him. He was forgotten, just like his brothers beneath the sand. That’s how they were to them? Just pawns to be sacrificed? Expendable and to be thrown away like swords when they go blunt? 

“Lies,” Moskov walked away, feet heavy and hands eager for blood. Khaleed was a coward without a sense of pride, dishonoring his tribe. He walked around the village, trying to gather information on Khaleed’s whereabouts. 

* * *

As expected, the other warriors were either drunk or trying to impress women. It was easy for Moskov to slip past the sentries and find Khaleed’s tent. With spear in hand, Moskov entered the place, invisible in the dark. A lone lamp illuminated the large dwelling, just enough to confirm that it was Khaleed who was lying under the sheets, bandages wrapped around his body. 

“Khaleed,” Moskov called and the other man stirred, acknowledging him. He raised his weapon above his shoulder.“Happy to see me?” 

“Moskov…” Khaleed called weakly and coughed. 

He could end it fast with one strike to the heart. Or perhaps, he could subject Khaleed to prolonged suffering. Let him feel what it’s like to bleed down, waiting for help, calling out to a man whom he called a friend. Moskov knelt beside the man lying on the ground and brushed the tip of his blade to the man’s chest, imagining how he could cut him open similar to the fate he suffered. 

Moskov smiled. For the first time since he crawled out his grave, he felt truly alive. 

“I’m sorry,” Khaleed said, voice rasp and breathing obstructed. Tears began to fall from the man’s eye. “I had to save our people…”

“You saved yourself,” Moskov sneered. 

Khaleed continued rambling, somewhat in an incoherent and disjointed manner. “I should have arrived faster. But the people... I failed you, Moskov. My friend… I’m so sorry. Please forgive me...” 

Grounded herbs and potions lay scattered beside Khaleed whose skin was pale as the moon, drained of color. Moskov withdrew his weapon and cursed, feeling disgusted. Khaleed wasn’t himself. He’s been sedated and filled with medicine, delirious and pathetic. In this state, the man wouldn’t understand Moskov’s words, nor his hatred. There was no point in this. Khaleed might not even remember the encounter if he survived. Perhaps this will just be an unpleasant dream. 

“You deserve a living nightmare,” Moskov declared. Only a coward would give Khaleed a quick death when he’s heavily sedated and injured. Ending it would be too easy and merely an escape from real punishment. Khaleed will have a real demon to torment him for the rest of his life. Khaleed deserved more - he would have to struggle, never finding rest nor forgiveness for the rest of his years. 

* * *

Moskov walked back into the cold darkness of the night, the moon obstructed by the clouds. He could go now to the Abyss, to be welcomed into the halls of demons and join the ranks of the most powerful army that the land had ever seen. Destiny awaited him, and yet, he walked aimlessly. He wandered around the village until the noises died and the people retired in their warm beds. 

Perhaps, he could have one last look before he would leave everything behind. This was the human Moskov’s home. In these streets, Khaleed and Moskov played as children. In the fields, as best of friends, they would train together dawn to sunset. In the rooftops, they climbed and talked about the future as they gazed on the stars. They used to be nothing silly boys eager to be warriors, ignorant of the brutality of war. This Moskov died with his brothers in the desert. If a demon was all that was left to mourn who Moskov used to be, then let it be so. 

In the edge of the village, stood a house where his family lived and died. One last time he will take a look at the place which comfort he would never have again. There was no one to see there. No father, mother, or siblings. A pile of flowers and letters lay on the doorstep as a tribute. Moskov said nothing. The blossoms had already been burnt by the merciless sun, withered, and died in the night.


End file.
